Having a Ball
by Hawki
Summary: Oneshot: Robb Stark had little desire to visit White Harbour, but understood that it was his duty as future lord of Winterfell. Duty, however, involved other, more pleasing actions though...


**Having a Ball**

It was cold in White Harbour.

Why this was, Robb Stark didn't know. It was summer, White Harbour was to the south of Winterfell, and all that aside, he knew what winter was like. He'd grown up in it. Seen people die in it. It bothered him as much as the cold itself did that he should be bothered by it at all.

And yet, it was still cold. Looking out into the Bite, seeing nothing but night sky over a deep blue ocean, he was left to wonder whether it would be preferable to continue enduring the cold, or actually head back inside.

"Ah, young Robb Stark."

He winced, but still smiled as he saw Wyman Manderly approach him. He recognised the deep, booming voice from the head of House Manderly's last visit to Winterfell. And he most certainly recognised the man's bulk.

"Lord Manderly," he said.

"Ah, no need for lords," he said. "Not here."

"Nevertheless, I would still call you my lord."

"Ah, well, there's that," he laughed. "But very soon, well, you'll be Lord of Winterfell won't you? Lord Stark, Warden of the North."

The words were sincere, and Robb smiled as he let Manderly lead him back inside, away from the Bite. Lord Stark. An honorific that belonged to Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell and House Stark, the man who had come to White Harbour to discuss tariffs between the North and the Reach. The man who had also brought his firstborn with him in order to better know his subjects, and those from other regions of the Seven Kingdoms.

He nodded politely as Manderly left him, heading for the plate of sausages by the boar's head. Yes, Ned Stark had brought his family alright. Already he'd seen Sansa talking to a knight sworn to House Tyrell. Already he'd seen Arya trying to ruin the experience for her. And Theon…He smirked. He knew exactly what Theon would be doing right now.

"Lord Stark."

"Greeting my lord."

"How fares your mother?"

"You _must _visit the Reach sometime."

The greetings kept coming, and the smirk had long since faded. He would have loved Theon to be by his side right now, almost as much as Jon. But Jon had been made to stay at Winterfell, for reasons Robb knew to be veils for his mother's true feelings. The same type of veil he'd seen his father put up against Mace Tyrell. For even honourable Ned Stark knew that honour sometimes involved extending the velvet hand, even if it had once been covered by a gauntlet.

_So this is my future life, _Robb thought, looking around the room. A mixture of northerners and southerners, all spending their time before the trade agreement was sign, and before they were free to head north, south, or remain in White Harbour. _This, and Winterfell._

He didn't resent it. He was fourteen years old, and he'd known that this was the kind of duty he'd have to carry out for as long as he could remember. He remembered being taught how to wield a sword by Ser Rodrik. He remembered his father taking him to his first execution. This event was no different from any other of those lessons, he told himself.

That didn't mean he had to enjoy it. So as he drifted to the edges of the courtroom, he found his mind drifting towards Theon, and what he was doing. Towards Jon, and whether he would have found more joy in this. Towards his sisters, glad that at least they were happy in their own ways. Towards-

"Oof."

Towards someone. Someone he bumped into. Someone he knocked over. Someone female, with a light blue dress, and long blonde hair.

"Forgive me, my lady," he said, kneeling down and offering a hand. "Let me-"

"No, I'm fine, I'm fine," she said, getting to her feet. Feet that, Robb noticed, were covered in glass slippers.

_Seven hells._

Glass slippers. Who, in the Seven Kingdoms or beyond, wore glass slippers? They were nice glass slippers, intricately crafted glass slippers, but still…glass slippers.

_Well, that's something Sansa better not see. Not after that visitor from Dorne._

"You're Lord Stark aren't you?"

"Robb," he blurted out. He blinked, raising his eyes to meet her gaze, and not the sight of glass slippers. "I mean, yes, Lord Stark. I mean…" He trailed off. "Well, you know what I mean."

"Yes," she said, and she smiled. An actual, proper smile, thank the gods. "Yes, I do know what you mean."

He smiled back. "Well, look on the bright side. You could be in King's Landing. Then you'd have to remember to call King Robert your grace, as well."

She laughed. A small, little laugh. But more real than anything Robb had heard this night. Well, besides Arya, but as long as she was having fun at Sansa's expense, she was entitled to it.

"Forgive me though," Robb said, "but I do not know your name."

"Cinder…I mean, Ella," the girl stammered. "I mean, Eleanor. Eleanor of House Tremaine."

"I think Ella sounds…I mean, House Tremaine?" Robb asked. "I do not know of it."

"Oh, it is but recent," Eleanor said (_Ella_, Robb thought, _I shall call her Ella_). "A new house, formed only recently. We are based in the Reach, a cadet branch of House Disney."

House Disney – that was a house Robb had heard of. A house that used a mouse for its sigil, the house's words being 'the happiest place on earth.' He supposed that when you were in the Reach, you were entitled to such ideas.

And yet there was something about Ella, he thought. She was not of the north, he could tell that much just by looking at her. But she was also very…plain, he supposed. The way she talked, the way she held herself, the way she was so…normal.

"Have you seen the Bite?" Robb asked. "It is worth a view."

"Oh, aren't you a Prince Charming?" Ella asked.

"I…I don't…"

"It was a joke," she said. "Don't worry Lord Stark, I know there's only one true prince in the realm. Well, two, I suppose. Or three, if you include the Targaryens, but I don't think…" She stopped talking. "Sorry."

"No, no," Robb said, hoping to get outside, because he was feeling quite warm all of a sudden. "I like it when you talk. I mean, when we talk. I mean people talk. I…"

He trailed off. But the words had been said. So they walked out together to the balcony. And Robb reflected on what he'd thought. She was normal. Plain. But the words by themselves implicated a negative connotation. If anything, the normality was the most refreshing thing he'd experienced this evening.

"So, Ella," Robb said, as they reached the outside. "How long are you in White Harbour?"

"Oh, as long as my stepmother is here," she said. She bit her lip. "Actually, I'm not meant to be here."

"Oh?"

"No," she said. Her eyes flashed with fear. "Lady Tremaine. You won't tell her will you? Or my stepsisters?"

"I…no, of course not," Robb said.

"You promise?"

"On my honour."

Honour would demand he tell the truth if asked, he reflected. Honour would demand he question her – because there was something…strange, about this girl. But again, strange in a good way. The kind of strange that-"

"The Bite," Robb said, turning to the sight before them. "The long bay that lies between the North and the Vale of Arryn. It…" He paused. "Are you cold?"

"No," Ella said. "Why?"

"Oh, nothing. It's just…well…

_It's because you're wearing a dress that doesn't look warm, and I'm feeling warm, and if you're not cold, that could imply you're warm, which would also imply-_

"It's nothing," Robb said. "It-"

And she kissed him. It was short. But it was sweet. It was sudden. But the moment was long. It was like kisses Robb had had with girls back in Winterfell. And yet, also nothing like them.

"Until midnight," she whispered. "I can only stay until midnight."

And Robb kissed her. Why, he did not know. Why, he did care. But the how's, why's, what's, when's, didn't matter right now. All that mattered was "who." This person whom he had met. It was like something out of the stories Sansa enjoyed. The stories that even he had enjoyed as a child, listening to Old Nan.

And it ended. At midnight, it ended. At midnight, she had to leave. At midnight, he saw her to her carriage. One oddly shaped like a pumpkin, but he did not mind.

"Perhaps in a year," she said to him. "Perhaps then, we shall meet again."

"Of course," Robb said. "After all, what can change in but a year?"

She smiled. "Nothing, of course," she said. "I…" she trailed off. "Farewell, Lord Stark."

And he bade her adieu, pondering the future. When next he could be in the Reach, or when Eleanor Tremaine would be in the North. When, or even if, he would tell Theon, about 'getting lucky.' Whether this would matter in the game of houses that even the North played. A subset of the game that covered all of Westeros.

But he would see her again, he told himself. Even if he had to become Lord of Winterfell, by the Old Gods, the New Gods, and all other gods, he would see her again. Even come into the Reach himself?

For after all, what could possibly change in the land to stop that from happening?

* * *

_A/N_

_As soon as I learnt that Richard Madden was playing __Prince Charming in the live action _Cinderella _movie, I thought, "well, that's going to lead to a lot of Robb Stark/Red Wedding jokes." And lo and behold, the Internet did not disappoint. So yes, this was my own take of it. With a bit less bloodshed though._


End file.
